


The Visitor

by DazaiKnight



Category: Mythology, celestial - Fandom, existential - Fandom
Genre: Death, Existential, Other, Reader Insert, decision, idk how to tag this, it doesn’t have a fandom sorry, really just me writing stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-01 22:15:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20265361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DazaiKnight/pseuds/DazaiKnight
Summary: Death is an old friend. When a visitor comes to call, a decision must be made.





	The Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> So this is honestly just me writing stuff (I know this is a fandom sight and this isn’t really a fandom) but I thought I’d upload it and see what people think since I kind of enjoy writing this type of thing. Anyway, feel free to leave feedback in the comments (or just kudos if you liked it).

I have always been drawn to death, and it to me. Since I was young, it has stayed by my side. It follows me, searching me out like a lost lover. It clings to me. Courts me. It embraces me lightly, almost tender. Loving. Some days it is like the voice of an old friend, calling to me. Asking if I would let it whisk me away for old times’ sake. Others, it is a blanket. A warm embrace around the cold inside. A promise of peace, of rest without pain and a dreamless sleep to last all eternity. But these are the days spent alone. These are not all days. Some days, there is another figure. Brilliant. Blinding. Fearsome. Many times it is more terrifying than death. It is not loyal. And death is covetous; a jealous lover. The visitor calls out with many voices. Death responds with so many more. A battle - of words; of mind; of spirit. And I, lost somewhere between. They are vicious. They are silent. I stand between. Death looks to me, with its tattered robe. Ancient knowing eyes stare back; a reflection of the soul. The visitor does the same. It’s robes, though blinding, are equally worn. And, should one look closer, it is splattered with blood, swirling with screams of anguish. Death, a quiet peace. Yet in the visitor’s eyes - not the soul, but the heart. Chained in the blinding prison. Bleeding. Death was an old friend. I knew it well. Just as well did I know the depths of the soul, and the darkness within. But never had I known the ways of the heart. Slowly, a step. A hand extended to greet me, calling out for my possession. Gloating. It placed the bloody broken pieces in my hands, guiding me forward. Pain. An agony like no other. One which death had swept away long ago. Yet I did not let go. Because it was pain. Because it was feeling. And with death there was no feeling. And though it did not run after me, it did not let go. And I felt it as I felt the brokenness of the heart - a pain lodged deep within. Death was a jealous lover, yes. But it was patient. Patient as only the most ancient things are. And though I traveled with the visitor for some time more, death was faithful to me. When the visitor abandoned, death did not. Instead it took me up, and wrapped me in its endless expanse. Holding me close with a whispered promise - _I shall take your pain away._

**Author's Note:**

> [In case it was confusing - the visitor is “Life,” short, painful, and easily lost while death is the one constant certainty (loyal)]


End file.
